


Have you ever met a man who never loved at all?

by oathkeptroxas



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Angst, Family Loss, First Love, Friendship/Love, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Memories, Past Relationship(s), Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 00:59:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6832414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oathkeptroxas/pseuds/oathkeptroxas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"But this time, he's not gonna be another could've been. This time she's gonna get real love, the skin she's in. He says a winner never quits, quitters never win. She said that this time she is built to face anything." It's been a year since Laurel's death, and nobody is coping very well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have you ever met a man who never loved at all?

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT: I have never written anything for this fandom (except some Roy/Thea stuff on my Roy roleplay blog, but that blog is mostly comic based, so) I have no idea if this is going to be any good. I haven't seen anything since 4x17, and I'm probably going to end up mis-remembering things that happened earlier on in the series, so if things don't match up this is your warning. Also, I might entirely discard things that happened in the show completely, because creative liberties. If Arrow can ignore source material, so can I. lmfao. I didn't actually ship Lauriver in the show (at least not since maybe mid-season 2, simply because I really valued and appreciated the supportive friendship they had. However, I probably would have grown to ship it again if the show had taken that route. So, I guess this can be read kind of ambiguously, as either a romance or simply friendship/past love, because it refers to their past romantic relationship, and doesn't imply that it was ever rekindled.

_This time he's held back, yeah, he's heaven bound.  
This time she's gonna pick herself up, no more breaking down._

_He says he's gonna turn the wheel, turn this shit around.  
She said if he's looking for love, she don't wanna be found._

_When you shoot across the sky like a broken arrow,_  
It's so hard to keep yourself on the straight and narrow.  
When you shoot across the sky like a broken arrow,  
You fall off course. 

**The Script | Broken Arrow**  
___________________________________________________________

 

Quentin Lance's fingers curled around the chipped porcelain of his coffee mug, the warmth of it brought little comfort. His head was bowed, his eyes on the tabletop before him. A year had passed since Laurel's death, and having no one else to turn to, Captain Lance and Oliver Queen had met up in an old Star City diner. If there was anyone alive who knew and loved Laurel other than her father, it would be Oliver. With no wife, no daughters, the former alcoholic had turned to someone who he'd previously hated with such a fire. A silence had fallen between them. Oliver cataloged the weariness, the heavy weight of exhaustion that seemed to anchor Quentin's entire body, his very spirit. And he knew that there would never be anything to lighten the burden. With the bitter taste of coffee still lacing his teeth, Oliver cleared his throat pointedly.

"I was a lot of things, most of them bad. And I know that you never thought I was deserving of her, but I loved your daughter, Captain Lance. There were times when I thought she was all that kept me going." Oliver murmured, unsure of how to proceed with their conversation. They hadn't come together to talk, not really, they simply needed the company of someone else who missed her as much as they did, on today of all days.

Quentin let out a scoff, a huff of breath that held no contempt, just sadness laced with disbelief. "She was all I had left, and now I got nothin'. I keep waiting for that to change, keep waiting for it to get better," His hands released the mug, and framed his face, fingers overlapped across his features.

Oliver didn't know what to say, he was unable to lie, to dish out false hope of an improvement that he couldn't guarantee. He dropped his gaze to his lap, and took some steadying breaths. Quentin spent the next few seconds working on his composure, reigning it in with great effort so that he wouldn't break. Unable to let the man suffer without some form of comfort, Oliver breathed out "She was the best of us."

Quentin sighed, before raising a brow at Oliver and draining the remainder of his coffee. "Y'know I never understood what she saw in you. My little girl always had this hope that people were better than they were. She never gave up on me, no matter how many reasons I gave her to walk away. She never gave up on you either, and it took me a long time to see why." 

Recognizing that talking about Laurel this way seemed to somehow be easing the ache in his chest -the burning that had been there since he'd woken up this morning to realize what day it was - Oliver pressed softly, "And why is that?"

With a barely there smirk, Quentin met Oliver's gaze. "She saw who you were, despite the parties and the booze. I think now that you did it all for attention, that you were a boy who was so used to being in the spotlight, you didn't know how to be out of it. But, Laurel, she knew who you were when no one was watching: the kind of man who would do whatever it takes to fight for what he believes in. And I'm sorry I didn't see that until I was part of the fight."

Oliver's eyes fell shut, and he dragged in a shaky breath. If there was one thing he was absolutely sure of, it was that Laurel had always known him, under all of the personas and the rebellion and the egotistical, playboy projections, she'd seen Oliver Jonas Queen, and she'd loved him. "You don't have to apologize to me. I'm the one who's sorry. I hurt you, and your family, more times than I can count...because I was selfish, because I was immature. I hurt Laurel, I hurt her and it's too late to make it okay."

Quentin regarded him for a prolonged moment, his gaze flickered over the younger man's face. He wasn't about to deny what they both knew was true, but the Oliver from before was not the same man that was sat in front of him. "She loved you," he settled on.

Oliver smiled wistfully, his face etched in melancholy. "I know."

Another silence settled between them, and though Oliver had never been comfortable speaking in depth about the things he'd suffered through, there were so many things he wished he'd told Laurel while he had the chance. Maybe confiding in her father would bring them both some semblance of comfort. With that in mind, Oliver retrieved his wallet from his back pocket, and - in an action he'd carried through more times than he could recall - he slipped out the photograph she'd given him, a full decade before, and handed it to Quentin. 

He saw the Captain's expression soften, his eyes well up as he gazed down at the image of his daughter. The picture was worn, creased and faded, the colour bleaching away with time. Oliver had often thought about framing it, preserving it. But, he couldn't bring himself to part with it that way, keeping it on his person was important, felt intimate. It was all he'd had of her for the longest time, and now again, it was all that was left. "She...She gave that to me, before I left on the Gambit, to remember her by...And those years that I was gone, it was the one thing I had that reminded me of who I was, of what I would be losing if I gave up."

Quentin let out a small, desperate laugh that hitched on a sob, as he ran his fingers over the photo. "All these years, and you still carry this with you?

"I carry her with me all the time."

Oliver knew that he hadn't been all that he could've for her, when she'd needed him to be. There were so many things that he wished he could change. She had never needed anyone to be strong, to be a fighter. She'd always been more than any of them, alone. Every single time life had shoved her down, she'd come back fighting. And she'd always thought that she'd go down swinging, kicking and screaming. That was just who she was. She never gave up, on herself or on anyone else. And Oliver didn't know what he would've been without her.

Quentin's eyes crinkled at the corners as his lips stretched into a sad smile, "I know the feeling." 

Reluctantly, the Captain handed the photograph back, and Oliver put it back in his wallet, where it belonged, where it would always be kept. For all of the difficulties, all of the differences and misconceptions, and bitterness between them, these two men had found a common ground enough to find comfort in each other. There was a mutual respect between them, and they both knew that they were each better off for having had her in their lives. 

"There are so many things I wish she'd known. There was...When I was on that island, every day was a struggle, but whenever I was able to think of anything beyond the need to keep breathing, I thought about Laurel." Oliver steeled himself, and clenched his fingers tightly together as he sorted through exactly what he wanted to say. "At one point...We had this plan...See, there was this government, nuclear weapon thing going on, and they were hunting us...I think we knew too much for them to let us go...Me, and the ally I made there...We tried to infiltrate this control tower, risked our lives because we thought maybe...I don't know...we hoped that we could sneak onto a supply plane..." Oliver scrubbed a hand down his face, the tips of his fingers toyed with the hairs of his beard that he'd just recently started to grow out.

Quentin was quiet for a moment, no doubt wondering what this had to do with him or his daughter. Though there had been a time when the Captain would have been loathe to admit it, now he had no qualms in recognizing that Oliver Queen was a good man, a man who had done anything he could to aid him through his grief. If he could help Oliver by lending an ear then he would, it was what Laurel would've wanted him to do. With an encouraging smile he asked, "Is that how you got home? Is that how they found you?"

Oliver shook his head, and bit his bottom lip in thought before proceeding. "No...This was within the first year or so that I'd been gone...I screwed it all up," He sighed. "Everything was going so well, we'd trained so hard to be able to infiltrate that thing...And the second I was left alone in that tower, whilst Slade scoped the place, I grabbed that phone and -without even thinking about it, without stopping to consider that they might be monitoring those calls -...I called Laurel. Not the authorities, or the coast guard, or my mother. I called Laurel."

Quentin's brow furrowed in incredulity, his lips pressed together in a thin line of concentration. "Laurel...she never said anything."

"She didn't know," Oliver breathed. "I called her, like I was desperate to hear her...as if somehow I could hear her voice and know that she was okay...She'd always been the person I ran to. Why would this be any different?" The backs of Oliver's eyes stung as he took steadying breaths, he grappled to regain control of his emotions, just long enough to get this out. "And the second I heard her, I froze...I could've gotten us killed. I threw away a chance at escape because the second I heard her speak...There was just so much I wanted her to know...And I couldn't get any of it out, didn't say a word."

"She didn't know it was you," Quentin concluded. Oliver gave a grave nod, as he blinked furiously to dispel the moisture from his eyes. "Did it help?...Hearing her?"

Oliver smiled tightly, "I set our escape mission back to square one, but I'd reminded myself of what I was missing. It made me want to fight harder."

"She was the best of us," Quentin echoed the younger man's earlier words. Nothing had ever rang more true.

They parted ways not long after, with a lingering pat to the shoulder to see them off. And Oliver wandered a little longer. Without any conscious effort he found himself at the cemetery. He knelt down in the grass, the denim of his jeans was marred by the soft earth as he leaned forward. His fingertips traced softly over the contours of her name, set permanently in stone. 

He thought of the photograph he saw everyday, and handled with such care even after all this time. He thought of everything that could've been, all the missed opportunities. He thought of the way that Laurel Lance was a truly selfless person, how she'd offered countless times to be a shoulder to cry on, even when he'd hurt her more than he'd ever hurt anyone. He thought about how she'd taken Thea under her wing, and given her everything she could, when Oliver couldn't be what his sister needed. He thought about how his own mother had loved Laurel because she'd always brought out the best in him. And thinking back, he couldn't remember a moment in his life when Laurel Lance hadn't been vital. A world where she ceased to be, had never made sense. She was more than just the Black Canary, she was good, and right and just. She was so full of love for everyone she encountered. 

Oliver thought back to the island, how returning to her had been a driving force, pivotal to his survival. He remembered how he'd needed to get home, needed to make it right. He'd been fully prepared to beg, and plead, and cry if that was what it took. He remembered Shado, and the earnestness in her expression as she'd glanced upon Laurel's picture, the soft curiosity in the way she'd asked _'Does she know how much you love her?'_

No, she hadn't, she couldn't. It was too late. 

"I'm sorry, Pretty Bird," He whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> #NoLaurelNoArrow 


End file.
